


show me the bones of the world (and i'll show you mine)

by Timballisto



Series: clarke and lexa vs the world [10]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timballisto/pseuds/Timballisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clarke and lexa are gods among men</p>
            </blockquote>





	show me the bones of the world (and i'll show you mine)

Giants once walked the earth.

The elders tell the stories to the children gathered around their knees, their voices weaving with the smoke and trembling with the gravity of their history.

There were once giants who walked the earth. Their granite bones are the cores of the mountains, the remains of their flesh the rolling hills and plains. The earth is made from the flesh of dead gods; Lexa can recite the stories from hazy memories of her brief childhood. More clearly, she can remember the tales as Costia murmured them against her skin. When Costia is taken, her wrath is sure and swift; in the old songs, none had survived the wrath of the gods and isn’t that what she is? What her people are?

They are the children of titans, crawling from wombs deep within the earth to inherit the earth by blood and fire.

Lexa is blood and bone and dirt; a god of scrabbling survival and sacrifice who grasps at peace with bloody, slippery hands. It is easy to lose her humanity in the mythos of it; the Commander is a much easier burden to bear than Lexa, and she is not strong enough to be both. The blood she’s spilt is too deep to tread, and she is too weak to try.

But if Lexa is willing to bloody her hands for her people, Clarke is willing to drown in it. She’d thought love was weakness- she’d seen the way Clarke’s heart had broken for the dead and had thought her the lesser for it. But it was not the clear head of a leader that had lead Clarke to fight against the mountain with no allies, no army, and no hope.

It was a dark sort of desperate love that had tipped Clarke’s hand and ended with the mountain being brought to its knees.

She hears about the massacre from her seat in Polis, about the dead who were carried out of the mountain for days and how the smoke from the pyre burned black for hours.

If Lexa is considered a god, the savior of her people, then Clarke is a primordial force. Lexa’s soul is old, but Clarke’s must be far older- aged by the stars before she rent the earth and Lexa’s carefully ordered existence. Clarke is an unstoppable force and if it were anyone else, Lexa would be an immovable object. But it’s not, and she isn’t, and Lexa can’t help but bend.

Lexa can no more refuse Clarke than she could catch smoke, or smother a wildfire with her hands. She does not turn Clarke away when she comes to Polis to take her pound of flesh; the bruises on her hips and marks on her neck are a welcome punishment for her sins.

Atonement never tasted so sweet.


End file.
